Chapter 17 Twilight
Twilight
The following day, Lucia had been staring at a blank canvas for half an hour, the charcoal flaking beneath her grip. She sighed. After the immersive zone she’d fallen into while painting Penelope, she’d thought (hoped) she’d found her rhythm again. But no.
Maybe the recent tumultuous events had dried up her spark, or the tension between her and Penelope was blocking her. She’d never had trouble painting through sorrow or anger before. This felt different.
Their text exchange lingered on her mind, how easy and effortless their interaction still was, despite the laden undercurrents between them.
Lucia hadn’t heard from Penelope today, even though she was supposed to let her know if she was in or out.
It still blew her mind that Penelope knew. She knew what Lucia did, and so far, she’d not run away screaming. Yet she couldn’t assume that was because of her.
But Penelope had texted Lucia—wanting to know about Skye—and the memory snapped her back to Francesca’s, Penelope’s stern voice ringing in her ears:
“Her name is Lucia!”
Lucia adjusted. She usually went with the flow and simply recalibrated her expectations, her perceptions.
She’d never confronted Skye about their past or asked why there were still phases when they imploded, when Skye went back to goading her.
She’d never even wondered what response Skye was after because it never mattered.
Most of the time, Lucia just ignored her.
That was how she walked through life: ignore whatever bothered her and eventually, it would go away, or she’d learn to ease the strain on her own.
The problem? That wasn’t working now. Not just since Penelope—this had started before—but Penelope’s very presence had ignited something.
And Lucia didn’t know where this would end, but the wired energy rushing through her, the sensation of being on the brink of something, like just before a sprint or a leap off a building, made her wonder how long she could keep it all bottled up.
Her phone beeped, pulling her out of her reverie.
Penelope was in.
~ ~ ~
Only a few days later, Lucia once more found herself at Francesca’s, this time in her study, still with Penelope next to her, along with Francesca, Skye, and Jules, all congregated around the table.
“Any questions?” Francesca asked.
“Why do we have to do all the heavy lifting? Why can’t Blackwell make sure the painting goes back to the lab?” Skye asked.
“Because she won’t trigger anything that executes your little theft,” Penelope said.
“It’s safer if Jules causes the system failure.
If they later find out it was a faulty reading, they’ll attribute it to a glitch,” Francesca said.
“People are less likely to question tech—it has no motive. Penelope is much better placed to ensure the proper conservation protocols are followed, especially since the Meridian will likely rush to get the Madonna back on display.”
“They will, yes. Though Montgomery is careful. I don’t expect too much pushback from her if I tell her to play it safe.”
“What picture will you suggest as an alternative?” Lucia asked. “We should decide now—something that will make the loss of the Madonna easier to swallow.”
“Bellini’s Lament for the Evening Star and Varotti’s Madonna in Red are complementary, more than any other pairing,” Penelope said. “Montgomery will definitely want the Bellini up regardless.”
“What about The Adoration of Saint Catherine by Isabetta Marini? It’s another Italian Renaissance piece, and I don’t think the Meridian has had it for too long.
The tranquil scene, rich in detail and soft light, is thematically similar to the Madonna but distinct enough to stand on its own. ” Lucia suggested.
“True. It’s not the student and the master, though.”
“Considering we’ll pull this off close to the ball, like the day before, beggars can’t be choosers, no?” Lucia shrugged. “They’ll grasp at anything that fits.”
“That works. And with Skye dropping the copy off close to the ball, the janitor’s closet should stay undisturbed until we need it,” Francesca said.
“Are we still stealing Blackwell’s badge to open the closet?” Skye asked.
“You’re what?” Penelope asked.
Lucia pinched the bridge of her nose. “We aren’t, and that wasn’t the plan.” She shifted.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Penelope said.
“She’s not lying.” Francesca sighed. “We were brainstorming ways to access the supply closet, and Jules suggested a scan of your badge, but Lucy wasn’t keen on that and never followed up.”
Lucia’s gaze dropped to her hands.
“That still leaves us with no access to the closet,” Skye said.
“Uh, I said I could get it done without her pass, too.” Jules closed her laptop. “Your security system is embarrassing. Don’t tell them until after we get the Madonna.”
Penelope snorted. “Good to know.”
Lucia rotated her right shoulder. How odd that sometimes you only noticed the tension you carried the moment it receded. She had worried Penelope would jump up and rush out of the room—either because Francesca suggested something Penelope refused to do or because Skye was being…well, Skye.
After some more back and forth, Lucia asked Penelope to follow her. Francesca’s villa contained a gorgeous library that led to a balcony with the most spectacular view. She’d asked Francesca if she could show Penelope.
Francesca had rolled her eyes but agreed.
“Wow. That’s impressive.” Penelope looked around the room—her gaze wandering from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves all around to the ornate leather reading chairs and side tables. “Very elegant and old-world style, too.”
“That’s Francesca for you.”
“Believe it or not, this would also fit Valentina.”
Lucia’s eyebrows shot up. “Varnelli? You’ve been to her place?”
Heat crept into Penelope’s cheeks, yet she didn’t look away. “Yes.”
Lucia stared at her, but Penelope didn’t elaborate.
“Right, so, while this room is great, I actually wanna show you something else.” She led Penelope out onto the balcony, one of those European-style stone ones with a solid, baroque balustrade and marble flooring.
“Look over there,” Lucia said, pleased she managed to time it right. While the view from the balcony was always stunning, the pre-twilight hues made it even better.
“Oh,” Penelope breathed, stepping up to the railing and gazing toward the horizon.
People never expected this from Atlanta—and Lucia liked that it still surprised them.
Here in Francesca’s backyard, it seemed like you’d stepped into the woods.
Towering sweetgum and oak trees, their crowns still filled with a spectacle of orange and yellow leaves that almost glittered in the remaining sun rays.
The sky appeared to touch the ground—clear blue with a few white puffs of clouds adding texture.
Sunlight filtered through the branches, breaking the yard into bands of gold and shade.
“You mentioned a love of paintings that played with lights and shadows. I thought you might appreciate this, too.” Lucia shrugged.
“It’s stunning,” Penelope said after a moment of stillness, her voice soft and low, barely carrying over the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects.
“It is.” Lucia took in Penelope’s profile, and she ached to reach out, to pull her close and recreate their moment in her studio.
But they were over, before they’d ever begun. Something heavy settled in her stomach.
A quiet sigh left Lucia, drawing Penelope’s gaze.
“You are the most confounding person I’ve ever met,” Penelope said after a beat.
“I’m sorry. Did I upset you with something?”
A small groan bled from Penelope’s lips, and she closed her eyes, bowing her head as a low “God” spilled from her lips.
Lucia stiffened. “Please tell me what I did. How else can I avoid repeating it?”
Penelope’s gaze snapped up. With two hurried steps, she invaded Lucia’s personal space.
Lucia’s breathing hitched.
“You’re utterly disarming, and you don’t even realize it.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do with you—with what you make me feel despite…”
“Despite what?”
“Knowing I shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” Lucia’s brows furrowed. “Who says you shouldn’t?”
“My brain? Logic? Everything I’ve ever believed in.”
Lucia’s chest constricted and her stomach dropped as nausea coiled in her throat. Why did she even bother? Even when everything seemed right, this would collapse. People always ended up leaving her, one way or another.
“I see.” She took a step back.
“I highly doubt that.” Penelope sounded rough, as if speaking cost her.
“You think that because of what I do, I’m…morally corrupt. Defective. Not someone you should want to associate with, and I get it. I understand.”
Penelope sighed. “If only it were that easy.”
“Seems pretty simple to me.” Lucia clenched her hand, trying to anchor herself with the stone’s hardness.
“You’re breathtaking—kind, funny, and so thoughtful and tender, it almost hurts.” Penelope reached out and traced her fingertips over the back of Lucia’s hand still clinging to the balustrade.
“But I’m also a criminal.”
“Yes, and I still want you more than I—”
“Should. I know.” She withdrew her hand, shivering at the sudden cold. “Look, I’ll just keep my distance. We restrict our contact to professional interactions so you can move on. When this is over, we can just…go our separate ways.” Lucia cleared her throat. She needed to get out of here.
She needed to—
Lucia groaned when Penelope surged forward and claimed her lips in a hard, almost bruising kiss.
She threw her arms around Penelope, drawing her closer on instinct as she deepened the kiss.
Lucia lost herself in Penelope’s warmth, in her sweet taste, in the fierce dance of their tongues, in the press of Penelope’s body so close.
Penelope’s hands clutched at Lucia, digging into her. She pushed her until the stone railing bit into her back.
Penelope drew Lucia’s lower lip between her lips and rasped the flesh with her teeth before once more chasing Lucia, overwhelming her with her heady scent and delicious taste.
Lucia shivered, wanting more—she wanted to lose herself in Penelope and leave the world, their jobs, everyone and everything who’d ever demanded something of her behind.
Penelope’s hands trailed down Lucia’s torso before she pulled away, stumbling backward. Her hand flew to her kiss-swollen lips.
Lucia almost lost her balance and tumbled forward.
“What are we doing?”
Lucia’s heart dropped, but she couldn’t make herself regret it, not even if this was all she’d ever have of Penelope.